


Didn't Follow a Star (the mere thought of you brought me home)

by LadyChi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyChi/pseuds/LadyChi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's been gone for a while. One of the kids is sick, and Darcy is exhausted. She's praying for a Christmas miracle when she attends a holiday Christmas party at Stark Industries and gets the best Christmas present ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't Follow a Star (the mere thought of you brought me home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katertots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katertots/gifts).



> When I got the assignment to write for katertots/dopemixtape/Katy, I literally screamed out loud. I was so excited.
> 
> And then I was intimidated.
> 
> And then I was even more excited. 
> 
> The scope of this fic got... way out of hand. If I had the time to do it justice, it would be much longer. And much better, all around. 
> 
> I tried to take your prompt about a Christmas sweater party and turn it on its head, but then it turned out I didn't use it very much? Anyway. I hope you like what I did. It was the best I could do, Katy. Thanks for cheerleading me and being awesome.

  
  


Three -- no, four of his ribs are broken, his ankle is fucked up beyond repair, and there’s a pretty good slice in his skin across his abdomen. The neo-HYDRA agents have gotten better at anticipating his moves, and his injuries are slowing him down.

 

When he runs outside of the base, he sees that the army of agents they sent after him was obviously a distraction. There’s a vertical-lift plane taking off, with several armed guards on it.

 

“Steve, don’t you dare --” he hears in his ear, but it’s too late to wait for Natasha and Clint to back him up. He’s going to have to fly solo.

 

He ignores the screaming pain in his body, how every breath feels like water, and pushes himself to the brink. He makes the four foot jump into the air onto the plane.

 

The element of surprise is his best advantage as he takes out the first three guards without a single bullet being fired. Using the shield, he blocks most of the shots from the other three guards while he takes them out, one by one.

 

He sees the box he came for, locked up tight. Inside, there’s a piece of alien tech that makes brainwashing that much easier. Utilized by the Russians in the Cold War, it’s part of the reason why Natasha Romanov is the killing machine she is. Steve wants nothing more to destroy it, but there’s no known substance on Earth that could render it ineffective, so to the Vault it will go, when he recovers it.

 

He lifts it and is about to look for a safe place to jump when he feels a sharp, unbearable pain on the back of his skull. He grips the box, turns, and punches the pilot in the face, which would be enough to make a normal man crumple to the ground. But not this guy, nope.

 

Or maybe Steve’s punch isn’t what it used to be? Even Captain America’s got limits, and Steve knows he’s reaching his. He blocks the pilot’s return punch easily, but is somehow caught unaware by the kick to his gut, right along his open wound.

 

The airlock opens. It’s all Steve can do to hold on to the box. And he falls.

 

***

 

Steve wakes up to nothing but pain. He hasn’t felt like this since he was locked in a chamber with no way out while every cell of his body was reprogrammed down to its very DNA. He can feel his body knitting itself back together. The fall should have killed him. He knows that much.

 

But it hasn’t. He rubs the back of his head, feels the blood pool in his hand from a head wound. It doesn’t appear as though it’s still bleeding, though. He wonders how long he’s been laying here in the snow. The box he’d worked so hard to obtain is lying in the snow, three feet away.

 

He fucking hates ice and snow.

 

Slowly, he convinces himself to sit up, takes a careful deep breath. “Darcy is going to kill me.”

 

**

  
  


There is a fat bulldog snoozing on a rug in front of a fire in a house in a row of brick homes in Brooklyn. The walls are painted a dark, rich color, and against the window on a bench stands a big Menorah, next to the Christmas tree. Jazzy Christmas carols are playing on a speaker, fed by an iPod. The house smells cinnamon, ginger and cloves. Darcy is baking, wearing big thick socks, leggings, and the ugliest sweater that ever uglied. When she saw the thing in the back of the thrift shop, she’d actually cheered. It has a huge reindeer on it, whose nose blinked a bright red from a bulb attached loosely to its nose. She’s doing her best to be cheerful, but the truth is, this isn’t really her holiday, and her man isn’t home, and it’s just a little difficult around here without the Captain sometimes.

 

There are two little girls upstairs, and a boy down the hallway, who are missing their Daddy. It’s naptime right now, and they’re all asleep, although getting them that way had been a fight. Darcy’s doing her best to fight off a headache with some forced cheer. Not everyone is buying it, though.

 

The dog lifts his head and huffs mournfully, laying it back down on his bed.

 

“Listen, King George, there’s nothing I can do about it, okay?” The dog doesn’t move, doesn’t lift his expressive face from the fire. “He’s doing the best he can. He doesn’t want to be away from home for Christmas any more than we want him to be away.”

 

Darcy viciously lifts the mixing bowl off of the mixer and dumps some sugar into a bowl. She takes a spoonful of the cookie dough and rolls it into a ball before she dumps it in the sugar, coating it thoroughly, and placing it on a baking sheet. She gets into a rhythm, remembers doing this with her grandmother and her mother, thinks that maybe next year she’ll let the girls help her -- this year they’re just a little too young. Just barely two and a half and full of energy. David, though, he’d help, if he were awake, but he’s been working on a fever for the last few days and Darcy’s been keeping it at bay with Tylenol and sheer force of will.

 

When she’d unexpectedly found herself pregnant with David, she remembers, she had spent a lot of time worrying about what life with a superhero would be like. In the end, she and Steve and promised each other it would be as normal as it possibly could be. And for the most part, it is. Darcy and Steve get up in the morning, have a kiss over their first cup of coffee, get themselves dressed, get the kids up and to daycare, head to work, and come back home. David’s getting old enough that soon there will be practices and meetings, but for right now, they’re all home together by six o’clock, most of the time.

 

But then, there are long stretches of time when Steve isn’t here, and her life isn’t quite as much like the picture at the back of a novel. Having three kids under the age of six is hectic enough with two parents -- when it’s just her, it makes her set her teeth and hold on with white knuckles from time to time. Steve’s patient and kind with the kids. She’s not impatient, or mean, but it doesn’t come as… naturally to her as it does to him.

 

So, since she doesn’t know when she can expect him home, she savors her rare moments of quiet. Except for when she’s got a PTA bake sale to prepare for, and a party to go to, and a babysitter coming in t-minus thirty minutes.

 

She slides the cookie sheet in the oven and heads to the bathroom to touch up her makeup. The truth is, she kind of wants to stay home today. But she knows that Tony will be unbearable if she doesn’t make an appearance at the company Christmas party, and Pepper is counting on her presence to corral the many employees of the Tech division of Stark Industries. Tony set the tone at his company, for all that Pepper was the CEO, and thus the Christmas party tended to get… out of hand.

 

“Mom?”

 

David pushes the bathroom door open without knocking -- not surprising. No matter how many times she asks him, or Steve asks him, he’s still not completely solid on the concept of personal space.

 

“Hi baby,” she says. David’s face crinkles. He’s no longer a baby, he’ll remind her, but Darcy can’t help it when he’s flushed pink from a nap, the outline of his pillow pressed on his cheek. She crouches down and opens her arms up -- he’s not feeling well, so he rushes forward to accept the hug.

 

Darcy leans her cheek against his forehead. Still warmer than she’d like, and a few hours away from when she could dose him with more Tylenol.

 

“Mommy, I don’t feel good,” he says. Darcy’s heart twists. She’s a complete marshmallow when it comes to this little boy with Steve’s chin and her eyes -- floppy blond hair that curls naturally that she keeps a little long because he looks like an angel and it drives Steve nuts.

 

“I’m sorry. I can give you some more medicine in a little bit,” Darcy says. “Maybe we ought to call the doctor, hm?”

 

“Santa’s going to come, even if I’m sick, right?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“What about if Dad’s not home yet?”

 

Darcy pauses. “Honey, Santa will come even if Dad’s not home yet. But I think your father’s doing everything he can to get home.”

 

“Okay. I’m just worried cause Trix and Nina would miss him if he wasn’t here.”

 

She’s almost gotten used to the way love for him can swell up in her chest and completely catch her off-guard. Darcy kisses his cheek.

 

“Mom.”

 

“I get to kiss you whenever I want. Mom’s privilege,” Darcy says seriously, but she wipes the lipstick off of his skin with her thumb.

 

“Yuck. I only kiss when I _have_ to,” David says, and plops down on top of the toilet to watch Darcy finish applying her eyeliner.

 

“When do you have to?” Darcy asks.

 

“Like when I grow up and I have to get married.”

 

Darcy raises her eyebrows. “You don’t have to get married when you’re grown up if you don’t want to.”

 

“I don’t?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Will you tell Bella Hitchens that for me? Cause she says we’ve got to grow up and get married and stuff.”

 

“You tell her,” Darcy says. “Be nice about it. But you can tell her.”

 

David is apparently done with this thread of conversation. “Also, sometimes I have to kiss Trix or Nina when they get boo boos. But my kisses aren’t magic like yours. They only work sometimes. Daddy says it’s cause we don’t wear lipstick.”

 

Darcy laughs. “Lipstick is the magic ingredient, huh?”

 

“That’s what Daddy says. Hey, where are you going?”

 

“To a party, for a little bit,” Darcy says. “At work.”

 

“Do I get to go?”

 

“No, baby. It’s a grown-up party.”

 

David makes a face. “I can go to grown-up parties. I’m six years old. I’m almost big enough to drive.”

 

“Not this time.” Darcy can see the pout that’s headed her way and raises a finger. “I mean it. Absolutely no room for negotiation. Phoebe’s gonna come watch you for just a few hours, and I’ll be back, hopefully, before you go to bed.”

 

“That’s all right, I guess.”

 

“And then we go to bed, and then we only have one more sleep until Santa comes, okay?”

 

David nods and hops off the toilet just as there is a knock at the door. “I’ll get it!” David takes off running for the door and Darcy follows behind him. David moves his footstool over, checks the peephole, and climbs back down shouting, “It’s Phoebe!”

 

Phoebe Lawrence is a college student that lives down the street, the daughter of a SHIELD Agent Darcy is rather fond of -- she’s nearly always available, she’s responsible, and she can be trusted to keep secrets. Which makes her rather invaluable, really. When the twenty-year-old moves on with her life, Darcy shudders to think of what they will have to go through to replace her. Plus the kids love her.

 

“Shhh,” Darcy admonishes David. “Your sisters are still asleep.”

 

David flings the door open, and Darcy catches it with one hand. Phoebe’s ready for the onslaught, and catches David with one arm. “Hi, dude!”

 

“Thanks for this,” Darcy says. “I was so glad you could make it.”

 

“Not a big deal. Glad to do it,” Phoebe says, setting David down on the floor to remove her coat and set her purse against a wall. “Is Steve back in town yet?”

 

“No,” Darcy says.

 

“He’s been gone a while this time, hasn’t he?”

 

Darcy smiles tiredly. “Just a couple of weeks. It’s not the longest he’s ever been gone.”

 

“But it’s right around Christmas. It sure does smell good in here.”

 

“Oh yeah!” Darcy rushes into the kitchen, turned the oven off, and removed the cookies. “These are for the bake sale at the school on Monday. The kids can have one a piece, and then they’re done.”

 

“Okay.” Phoebe stands there, and listens as Darcy fills her in on David’s low-grade fever, the twins’ nap, and double checks that Phoebe has her number in case something goes wrong. Then Darcy gathers her stuff, kisses David goodbye,  and meets the cab at the front door.

 

**

 

A few hours later, Darcy is getting ready to leave the Christmas party. She has put on a happy face long enough and she wants to go home.

 

Darcy genuinely likes her job, likes the people that she works with. She really enjoys being Pepper Potts’ right-hand woman, and likes working with Tony, with whom she shares a sense of humor. But right now, honestly, she would rather be home, sitting in front of the fire with the dog, watching a silly movie with her kids.

 

Still -- the decor is awful, the sweaters are mandatorily worse. Darcy figures it could be a lot worse.

 

Tony has, of course, completely lost his mind. The venue is dripping cheesy Christmas -- there are huge inflatable Santas and reindeer that move every time you look at them sideways. Perry Como is piped over loud speakers and the punch is spiked. Liberally.

 

“You do not have a drink,” Tony says, coming up behind her with an over-full punch cup. He’s wearing a sweater with cottonballs and blinking lights. It is truly epic.

 

Darcy chuckles and takes the cup. “Thanks, boss. Nice sweater”

 

“Thanks. It wasn’t quite gawdy enough. I had a seamstress punch it up a little bit. Trying to look festive. But you. You are also not looking very festive. Where’s the Star-Spangled cupcake tonight?”

 

Darcy shrugs. “Classified.”

 

“Still?” Tony lets out a low whistle.

 

Pepper appears out of the crowd and kisses Darcy on the cheek. Somehow, her sweater manages to be both tacky and classy at the same time. Darcy has given up on trying to figure out how she does it.  “Merry Christmas, Darcy!”

 

“Merry Christmas.” Darcy kisses her cheek back, a move she wouldn’t normally make, but it feels natural with Pepper, like she genuinely means the affection.

 

Pepper squeezes her hand and looks around. “Where’s Steve? The last time I saw him, he was bragging about how truly ugly his sweater is.”

 

“Still on duty, apparently,” Tony says. “Don’t worry, I stepped up to the plate, Pep. I got her the biggest drink we have. I’ve been a real gentlemen.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Pepper says, ignoring Tony’s obvious ploy for attention. “We hope he gets home in time for Christmas.”

 

“Us too,” Darcy says on a sigh. “I’m ready for a break.”

 

“Well, no working tonight, no matter how many people try to rope you into conversations about it,” Pepper says firmly. “Just enjoy the party.”

 

“We could just leave. Go upstairs to the roof, use the hot tub….” Tony’s voice trails off as he catches sight of someone. Darcy turning to see who it is when a very familiar voice cuts across the room.

 

“Stark. Quit trying to get my wife naked.”

 

Darcy whirls and Pepper takes her drink as she launches herself at Steve, who catches her and spins her around, kissing her soundly. His sweater is not terrible. In fact, it’s the one he left the house in nearly three weeks ago. Darcy wraps her hands in it and giggles madly through the kiss.  The whole party breaks out into applause, and Darcy flushes bright red but she can’t stop herself from kissing him, even though it appears everyone in the party is staring at her and Steve.

 

“You are the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever seen,” Steve says, just low enough for her to hear in her ear when they finally part and he’s slowly lowering her to the ground. Then he’s wiping tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

 

“Welcome back, Cap,” Tony says, extending his hand. “Glad we got to see you.”

 

Steve pulls Darcy in close and shakes Tony’s hand, gives Pepper a kiss. “I hope you folks won’t think I’m rude, but…”

 

“Take your wife home, George Bailey,” Tony says, gesturing in that regal way he has. “Merry Christmas.”

 

“Merry Christmas to you.”

 

Steve helps her into her coat and leads her into the back of a waiting cab. She reaches for his hand, like she used to when they first started dating and she couldn’t get enough of him. He slides into the middle seat and she lays her head on his shoulder.

 

They can’t speak about where he’s been, or what he’s been doing. Not in a cab. But she can ask him if he’s okay, and so she does.

 

Steve shrugs. “I’m all right. It didn’t go terribly. It just didn’t go well.”

 

Darcy squeezes his hand, knowing that they’ll talk about it later.

 

“How are the kids? I called the house -- got Phoebe. That’s how I knew where you were. I figured we’d go in, surprise them together.”

 

“David’s trying to get sick,” Darcy says, “and Trix and Nina have become fascinated with handsoap while you were gone.”

 

Steve closes his eyes and swallows and she rubs the back of his hand with her thumb. “Are you tired?” she asks.

 

He’s not one for sleeping, so when he says, “I think I could sleep all night,” Darcy knows that he’s not being entirely truthful with her about the mission not going terribly. She shoots him a look that he swears has gotten more piercing since they had children, but he shrugs.

 

He won’t talk about it here. He might not even talk about it tonight.

 

“I’m sorry, Darce. I know… I know that was a long time to be gone and…”

 

“It’s okay.” Darcy kissed his cheek. “You’re here, and it’s almost Christmas. I got David’s Christmas recital on video. It’ll be okay.”

 

As they talk quietly, Steve buries his hand in her hair and plays with it. She can’t stop touching his face, his shoulder.

 

“Okay, you two lovebirds,” the cabbie calls. “Here you are.”

 

Steve pays their fare in cash and a little bit more, and he and Darcy climb up the stairs to their home. It’s nearly nine -- all of their children should be in bed. When they open the door, Phoebe is sitting on the couch with a slumbering David next to her, watching the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

 

“How’s he doing?” Darcy asks, removing her coat.

 

“I gave him some more Tylenol. He’s been coughing.”

 

“That’s new,” Darcy says, crossing the room to lay her hand on David’s forehead.

 

“Hello, Commander Rogers,” Phoebe says, waving her hand. And Darcy’s got to give her full points. She nearly hides her crush well enough for it not to be obvious.

 

“Hi, Phoebe. Thanks for taking the late shift,” Steve says with a gentle smile. “What do we owe you?”

 

“I wrote the cheque already, Steve,” Darcy says, gesturing at the side table.

 

“Okay. I’ll walk you home, Phoebe.”

 

“Oh, Commander, you don’t…”

 

“Yes, he does,” Darcy says, with a laugh. “Trust me. It’s just better to let him play the white knight. He pouts otherwise.”

 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Steve says, and gives Darcy a kiss on the cheek.

 

The door closes, and David still doesn’t stir. Darcy takes Phoebe’s spot on the couch and plays with her son’s hair. Her heart is so full, so overflowing, with Steve back, she doesn’t know if she can take it. She knows this euphoria won’t last… but right now, it’s just this side of unbearable.

 

“Mama? Mama?” Trixie is standing in the doorway of her room, carrying her bear by its tired arm. “Where is my Daddy?”

 

“He’ll be right back, baby,” Darcy says, and gestures that it’s okay for Trixie to come out of her room. “Where’s your sister?”

 

“Snoring,” Trixie says.

 

Darcy laughs. Trixie climbs up into her lap and promptly begins to suck her thumb -- something she only does at night anymore. Darcy feels that sharp pang she feels sometimes when she realizes she doesn’t really have babies anymore.

 

“David sick?” Trixie asks. “He is coughing a lot.”

 

“That’s what Phoebe said,” Darcy says, pushing Trixie’s dark hair out of her face. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him, huh?”

 

“Pretty shirt,” Trixie says, petting Darcy’s sweater, her brother’s troubles momentarily forgotten.

 

Darcy grins. “It is, isn’t it?”

 

Trixie likes all things light-up and sparkly. And pink. Darcy’s sweater is right up her alley.

 

When the door opens and Steve steps through, Trixie lets out a scream lthe likes of which haven’t been heard since the Beatles came to America. It wakes everyone in the house up, but Trixie doesn’t care. She jumps off the back of the couch and runs into Steve’s arms.

 

“There’s my Daddy!” she shouts.

 

Nina starts to cry, so Darcy wipes her eyes and goes to get her from her bed. “Daddy’s home,” she whispers as she scoops her up and carries her into the living room, where David and Trixie are climbing Steve like a tree.

 

Nina’s always been the quiet one -- David and Trixie remind her of herself, personality-wise, but Nina is all Steve. Quiet, watchful. Unexpectedly and startingly intelligent. She’s content to wait until David and Trixie are done, collapsed in giggles on the couch before she wiggles free from Darcy’s arms and runs to hug Steve’s legs.

 

“Hello, my Daddy,” she says softly, almost shyly.

 

“Hello, my Nina-bean,” Steve says just as softly. “Did you get prettier while I was gone?”

 

“Yes,” Nina says, a smile creeping across her face. “I get prettier every day.”

 

“Yes, you do,” Steve says, kissing her cheek.

 

It’s an hour of this -- the girls and David talking over each other, shouted stories, big mugs of hot cocoa that Darcy passes out to everyone, cuddling as one big mess on the couch, cookies consumed, despite what she told Phoebe about saving them for the bake sale.

 

Then there’s a half an hour of putting all the kids back in their beds, and waiting for them to stay there.

 

It’s well after midnight when Steve and Darcy feel comfortable that all of their children are nestled snug in their beds. When the door closes to their master bedroom, Darcy lets out a deep breath.

 

“So.” She says, taking off her sweater in one smooth motion. “That was a long one.”

 

“It was,” Steve says. “How much did… I mean.”

 

“Not a word from SHIELD,” Darcy says, and her earrings come out next. Steve’s eyes never leave her as she walks around the room in her pencil skirt, stockings and bra. “What happened?”

 

“Natasha and Clint lost track of me for… a little bit.”

 

“They lost track of you?”

 

“Funny story. I, uh… I fell.”

 

“You fell.”

 

“Was pushed, actually. Out of an airplane. A little bit.”

 

Darcy closes her eyes. “You got _pushed out of an airplane_ a little bit?” Steve shrugs. Darcy sighs. “But you’re okay?”

 

Steve remembers hiking with broken ribs, limping until his body mended itself, staying alive through sheer force of will.

 

“I am now.” He tries for a charming smile, but he’s not sure why he bothers, because Darcy has never bought that from him. She pulls his sweater over his head and pushes him back on the bed. “Whoa, Darce, I mean…”

 

“Shut up, Commander,” she says, without malice, while she looks him over. “Turn over.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve got a bruise. I want to take a look at it.”

 

“Did you get a medical degree while I…” Darcy viciously pokes him in the side where the bruises is starting to yellow. “Ouch! Damnit, Darcy! I’m turning, I’m turning.”

 

“How long ago did this happen?” Her voice is calm. A little too calm.

 

“It’s hard to say? All I know is I walked for three days before I found a place where I could use a phone and call in.”

 

Darcy bites her lip, climbs off of him, starts to take off her skirt and her stockings without saying a word.

 

“I’m sorry, Darcy. SHIELD was just following protocol. They don’t notify families until the disappearance is confirmed for…”

 

“I’m aware,” Darcy cuts him off, releases the snaps on her bra. “And you’re aware that I think that’s bullshit. You were missing for days and I didn’t even know to worry and…”

 

“Doll.” His voice slips into that register that makes her tingle. “I’m sorry. I just … I got home in time for Christmas, didn’t I? I did my best.”

 

“I’m not mad at you, Commander. I’m really not.” Darcy shakes her head. “I’m just so fucking _pissed_ in general that I could spit.”

 

Steve got up off of the bed, wrapped his arms around her, one arm against her middle, the other hand cupping her breast. “You know what I thought about while I walked?”

 

“Don’t you try to butter me up with some sexy talk. I may not be mad at you, exactly, but I’m still not happy and…”

 

“I thought about this,” Steve says, brushing her hair off of her neck and kissing the nape of it. “I thought about the kids, of course, but I thought about you in my arms. I thought about your voice, giving me hell. I thought about doing this --” he unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor, kicking it out of the way before he takes possession of her mouth, his thumb brushing across her nipple over and over again, teasing at the kind of pressure she really likes. “I thought about going down on you and making you scream my name. I thought about being inside of you. Darcy, I have _missed_ you.”

 

Darcy turns and kisses him. “I missed you too, Commander.”

 

What follows is slow, not their usual welcome-home fare, but Darcy can tell Steve’s still in pain. He kisses every inch of her and she studies him with eyes and mouth and hands and they reassure each other that, at least this time, they’re lucky. They’re together and whole and happy.

 

***

 

Darcy’s cell phone rings. She reaches for it, trying to silence it before it wakes Steve. He rolls over and grips her tight, his head on the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

 

“Hello,” she says. The ID screen says “restricted” which means it’s probably SHIELD calling.

 

“Hello Mrs. Rogers.”

 

There’s only one person in the world who calls her that who would call at three a.m. Darcy sits up, gently shoving Steve away. He rearranges himself so he’s with his head in her lap, which means he’s at least partly awake. “Listen here, Agent Coulson. I’m at least three kinds of pissed at you right now. Maybe calling at three in the morning isn’t the best idea.”

 

“How’s the Commander?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. He _fell out of a fucking airplane_. How do you think he is?”

 

“He also took two bullets, sliced his abdomen, broke his ribs, and one of the bones in his ankle. I forget which one.”

 

Darcy pinches Steve, hard. He opens his eyes and glares at her. “I’m going to tell everyone at work my wife abuses me.”

 

“Two bullets?”

 

Steve shrugs. “No permanent harm done.”

 

“Mrs. Rogers, I just wanted to issue my… personal apology. And tell you how glad I am that everything worked out and the Commander got home in time for Christmas with his family.”

 

Darcy closes her eyes. For all of SHIELD’s faults, Phil is a good and steady presence in their lives, one of their biggest supporters at the agency. And she knows he probably feels like shit about how he had to handle the last two weeks.

 

“Well, we’re glad he’s home too. You should come by the house Christmas Eve for dinner.”

 

“Oh, I don’t --”

 

“No excuses, Phillip Alan Coulson. We know you don’t have any other plans. And David wants to see his godfather.”

 

“Darcy --”

 

“No excuses. We’ll see you Christmas Eve?”

 

Coulson sighs. “Yes. I’ll see you Christmas Eve.”

 

Darcy hangs up the phone and runs a hand through Steve’s hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.

 

“You know I hate it when you edit things to make me feel more comfortable,” Darcy says, closing her eyes and leaning back against the headboard.

 

“I know. I was going to tell you…”

 

“Did you get what you were going for?”

 

“We did. It’s safe now.”

 

“Okay.” Darcy leans down, kisses the top of his head. “I love you. So fucking much. It’s stupid, Steve, how much I love you.”

 

He pulls her down, wraps himself around her and kisses her. “Ditto, doll. You know that.”

 

***

 

The church is completely dark. Trixie and Nina cling to his hands as they pass by the statutes and find a seat in one of the pews. David sits next to Darcy, who only comes to church with Steve and the kids two times a year -- Christmas and Easter.

 

Steve kneels, and all of his children follow suit, bowing their heads just like he does. He knows they’ll wait until he gets up to get up, just like he used to when he went to church with his ma.

 

He bows his head, and thanks the God he still believes in for all of the good things in his life. He prays for his mother’s soul, and then Bucky, and all of the friends he lost in the war.

 

He ends his prayer the way he ends most of his prayers these days. “Lord, I don’t know what I did that I deserve…. all of this. But thank you for making me one lucky bastard. Amen.”

 


End file.
